


I And Love And You

by iisaax



Series: Take Me In [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brain Damage, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 17:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iisaax/pseuds/iisaax
Summary: It was Bucky’s idea, silent at night in the way they always were when sleeping in that thin-walled apartment. He was tracing the curve of Steve’s neck down to his shoulder, and running his fingertips down his arms, trailing feather-light paths to his hands when he first tried it, three taps on a thin wrist. Steve had blinked sleepily at him and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky leaned forward and closed it with a kiss.He did it again,tap tap tap. Pulling back, he mouthed it:I love you.Steve slowly smiled, and mouthed it back, reaching up to tap it onto his shoulder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another one! Hope you enjoy :-)
> 
> Title is from the song by The Avett Brothers of the same name. 
> 
> Edit: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0eSpAgqrWo) is a link where you can listen to the song! It's perfect for these two, I suggest you give it a listen.
> 
> Re: Edit: WOW!! 100 kudos! I can’t thank y’all enough, really! <3

It started with secrecy, as it usually did - as it usually _had_ to - under the bar on an outstretched palm, onto a leg in the back of a truck, softly in bed, tapped over the other’s heart. Three, always three, even in the frantic exchanges with knuckle-white grips and looks that said everything they couldn’t say out loud. Steve only wishes he could have done it more, or before, before, before.

It was Bucky’s idea, silent at night in the way they always were when sleeping in that thin-walled apartment. He was tracing the curve of Steve’s neck down to his shoulder, and running his fingertips down his arms, trailing feather-light paths to his hands when he first tried it, three taps on a thin wrist. Steve had blinked sleepily at him and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky leaned forward and closed it with a kiss.

He did it again, _tap, tap, tap_. Pulling back, he mouthed it: _I love you_. 

Steve slowly smiled, and mouthed it back, reaching up to tap it onto his shoulder.

Steve does it now, tapping on the smooth tabletop. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo stares back at him. He’s often stared at it, sitting in this very room for debriefing after debriefing, and it always stares right back. 

The door to the hall opens and he looks up, trying not to look too excited. Sam enters the room with a somber expression, followed by Natasha, whose expression is cold and collected like always, and Steve cranes his neck looking for more people, but no one else walks in. Natasha quietly closes the door. 

Steve manages to wait for them to sit before saying anything, but as soon as Natasha relaxes in her swivel chair, he breaks the hours-long silence.

“Well? Is Bucky okay?”

“Yes and no,” Sam sighs and tilts his head back and forth in a non-committal way. Natasha grimly smiles.

“What do you mean?” Steve frowns. “We’ve either fixed him or we haven’t. Does he remember who he is? Does he- he know who _I_ am? Can I see him? Is he still here? I need to-”

Sam stands and gently urges Steve back into his seat.

Natasha looks down at her hands where she seems to be very interested in her fingernails. 

“We don’t know,” she admits. “He’s unresponsive. Hasn’t spoken a word since they brought him in.”

Steve lets himself be seated and stares back down at the table. He wants to ask a million questions. He says, “Oh.”

Natasha continues. “They think something Hydra did to him has made it difficult, if not impossible for him to speak. The specialists we called in have tried everything - even talking to him in manual languages. He doesn’t seem to understand, or want to communicate back.”

“Oh,” Steve says again.

Sam looks at him warily. “They… wanted us to tell you. In case, you know, you wanted to give up on him. Leave him here for more observation.”

“No!” Steve shouts, moving to stand again. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. He sits back. “No. I want to see him. _Jesus_ , I want to see him. Are they still going to release him?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Did you ready your new place?” 

Steve nods about a hundred times. “Yes, yes. Bruce helped me set it up. It’s ready.”

“And you really think this is a good idea?”

“Yes,” Steve assures him seriously. “I do.”

Natasha pushes herself up out of her chair and rocks back on her heels. 

“Alright then.” She smiles, cooly. “We will let Hill know.” 

-

It’s still a while before Steve gets to see him, but when he is finally outside the room they have set up for Bucky, bags at the ready and a rehearsed spiel about how Bucky will be staying with him until he is back on his feet in his head, and he sees him through the glass, he suddenly has no plan. 

He’s… skinnier than he was on the helicarrier. His hair is slightly longer. There are dark bags under his eyes. He looks pale. He looks beautiful. 

Steve feels the tears well up in his eyes but he bites them back, holding up his keycard to the side of the door. It slides open with a soft noise, and Steve steps inside, placing Bucky’s bags on the floor next to him. Bucky doesn’t look up from his position on the side of his bolted bed. 

Steve tries to speak but he finds he can’t. He looks back to the hallway at Natasha and Sam, who are both leaning against the opposite wall. Sam gives him a sad smile. Steve turns back around. He decides to start simple.

“Um… My name is Steve Rogers. I’m here to take you to someplace safe where you can stay. With me.” 

Silence. Other than the whirrs of the cameras overhead, through which Steve assumes Hill is watching, the room is silent. 

“Do you…” Steve bites his lip. “Do you know who I am?”

Bucky stares at the ground.

Steve walks carefully over and kneels in front of him. He wants to reach out, and to touch him, but he doesn’t. When he speaks again, it’s hardly a whisper.

“Hey sweetheart. Can you hear me?” 

Bucky flickers his gaze up to Steve for a split second then looks away. Steve waits for a nod, anything, but nothing comes. Steve feels the tears threaten to return, so he stands. 

“I can pack up your stuff for you. All you need to do is follow me when it’s time to go. Can you do that for me?”

Not expecting a response, Steve turns and grabs a bag from the floor, intend on filling it with the clothes from Bucky’s drawers. He’s pulling open the first drawer when he hears it, scratchy and slurred. 

“Y-yes.”

Steve looks back to Bucky, then to Natasha and Sam. They’re talking to each other and don’t see him. He kneels in front of Bucky again. 

“Good, good…!” He soothes. “That’s good, thank you. Um, can you tell me your name?”

Bucky is back to staring at the floor but this time he has a strange expression on his face, like he’s thinking. An answer never comes, and Steve goes back to packing up Bucky’s clothes.

-

Sam and Natasha are there to help unload Bucky’s things into the apartment S.H.I.E.L.D. has chosen for them in a least-suspicious-as-possible neighborhood on the outskirts of Brooklyn. Steve wanted to laugh at the irony of that, he really did. It doesn’t take long; Bucky doesn’t own much. After Sam hands off the last of Bucky’s books - Steve had found a surprising amount of those in his room - he claps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and gives him a strained smile.

“You sure you’re sure? I know he’s been deemed safe and all, but you never know… I mean, he could turn on you and-”

Steve holds up a hand, “I know, Sam. And I’m sure.”

-

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

Steve drums absentmindedly on his desk where he’s been trying to work for a solid 2 hours, feeling the time drip by. He can’t get his mind off the man in the other room, who had upon entering the apartment had strode with a purpose across the room, squatting to check corners and reaching up to run his hands along the top of door frames. Checking for bugs. Steve had fought the urge to tell him he’d already looked several times before. After Bucky had completely emptied Steve’s fridge and started feeling along the back, Steve finally spoke up and suggested he go rest in the spare room. Bucky looked up at him in the glow of the fridge light and Steve thought he might have seemed relieved. 

So now there Bucky is, relaxing, Steve hopes, in the spare room. 

Steve leans back in his chair and sighs. He looks at his watch. It’s just after seven. Steve wonders if Bucky has eaten. 

He ends up making them some pasta, with one of those vegetable bags you heat up in the microwave. Bucky creeps out of his room around the same time Steve is setting the table. 

“Hey… Hey Buck,” Steve says as he sets down the last piece of silverware.

Bucky doesn’t look at him, but carefully sits down. There are sheet marks on his face. The bags under his eyes seem lighter. Had he been sleeping, before? At S.H.I.E.L.D.? Steve tries not to think about it too much and steps back into the kitchen to grab the food. 

Bucky watches Steve cautiously the whole time he’s being served, and then stares at the pasta like he’s never seen so much. Steve sits opposite him and tells him, “Go ahead - you can eat.” 

The food is stared at for a few moments more, then Bucky slowly picks up a spoon with some difficulty - no forks or knives allowed - and takes a bite.

Bucky ends up eating so much, he gets sick.

-

Steve is lying awake in bed when he hears it from behind his head. _Tap, tap, tap_. He thinks the first time he’s just finally falling asleep and in the beginnings of a dream. Then, he hears it again. And again. He sits up in bed, blinking in the darkness. It happens again, coming from the wall, where Bucky’s room is flush against his. His heart seems to stop, and he scoots closer to the frame, resting a hand against the wall. 

He can feel it now, a steady one, two, three taps. He wants to cry, laugh, something. He gets all the way to Bucky’s door, with a hand resting on the handle, before he realizes what time it is. He’s doing it in his sleep. Steve retracts his hand slowly and stands in the hallway for a long while, before retreating to his room, kept awake and nauseous for the rest of the night by the repetitive _tap, tap, tap_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions or ideas are more than welcome!! More to come!


	2. Chapter 2

It continued with routine, as it usually did - as it usually _had_ to - knocked on top of a desk during detention, kissed into the other’s cheek ducked into alleys before work, rubbed on a back in a hug before, before, before. 

The soldier does it now, trigger finger silently pressing into its right knee three times. Something in its brain finds the action satisfactory and lets the soldier feel calm. The ever-present headache ebbs a bit. Then the anxiety and the pain is back, so it does it again. 

Fourteen minutes and thirty-five seconds pass where the soldier sits on the edge of the bed and rides the tide of conflicting synapses, until the guilt becomes too much and it stands. The soldier waits until the darkness creeping into its vision recedes - it hasn’t eaten since the incident eighteen hours, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-one seconds ago - then makes its way into the kitchen. Maybe if it sits at the table again it will be again allowed to eat.

It doesn’t expect to see Steve Rogers sitting in the living room, reading a book with glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Something makes the soldier pause for a moment; _since when did the punk wear glasses_? The soldier shakes its head to clears its from-then thoughts - those have been becoming frustratingly more frequent - and gets back to its current mission. It can see Steve Rogers watching it with a surprised expression out of the corner of its eye but it doesn’t make eye contact. It pulls out a chair and sits. 

Steve Rogers is standing now, book set aside - _with those stupid glasses set on top_ \- and seems to want to approach but is instead tucking his hands into his armpits and chewing on his lip. He starts to speak several times.

“Are you hungry?” He finally asks.

Steve Rogers seemed to like when it vocalised, so it sets its jaw and tries to force its mouth to form a word. Any word would be satisfactory at this point, really. It forces out a “yes” without stuttering. It allows itself to feel proud.

Steve Rogers’ face immediately lights up. His hands drop and clasp together, holding onto each other, and he praises it, grinning.

“Good job! I’ll uh... get you something to eat.” He passes it into the kitchen and mills around. “I, ah, talked to a doctor - a good one, a friend of mine - and he suggested we try eating liquid foods. He said it would be more like more like what they… What you’re used to.” Steve Rogers sets a glass filled with something opaque in front of it.

Steve Rogers sits in the other chair and looks at it expectantly. 

“Um… try it, if you want to. It’s supposed to be mocha-flavored. So it’s sweet, how you like… ”

It grabs the glass after several attempts to grasp, then it downs the liquid in one go. The liquid is thick - _tastes like how he used to fix his coffee_ \- and despite a strange bland chemical taste it is satisfied with the flavor. It sets down the glass and wipes its mouth. It wonders if it can speak without being spoken to. It decides to try. It wants to say the liquid was good, and that Steve Rogers is the only one it has allowed itself to trust for two-hundred ninety-five days.

“Guh,” it says. 

Steve Rogers smiles anyway, ands nods eagerly like he understands exactly what it was trying to say. “Not bad, right? I tried some this morning; it’s called Soylent. It’s a future thing. People eat bugs, too, did you know that? I thought we’d have to be a lot further on to do that, but apparently not.” Steve Rogers is quiet for a while. Then, he says, “You always did like new-fangled technology like that, didn’t you, Buck?”

It doesn’t know how to respond, or if it can, so it stares at the glass and waits for the food to come back up. Steve Rogers chews on his lip some more, then puts the glass in the sink. 

The soldier manages to keep the food down.

-

Another nineteen hours, three minutes, and forty-two seconds pass before it leaves the room again. This time Steve Rogers isn’t in the living room, but in his study, where it watches him work for six minutes and five seconds before he notices, nearly jumping out of his skin. 

He looks over at it wide-eyed with a hand pressed to his heart, and says, “Bucky… you startled me. Are you okay?”

The soldier pinches its brow and focuses on forming one of the words it’s been allowed to say. 

“G-g-g-g-g-”

Steve waits patiently, chewing on his lip again - _he’s always done that_ \- and leaning back in his office chair. It can’t get the word out. It can’t get the word out. It can’t-

“Good?” Steve Rogers finally finishes gently. “You’re good, Bucky?”

The soldier looks anywhere but at him and nods once. Affirmative.

“Do you,” he starts. “Know sign language?”

It shakes its head once. Negative. 

Steve Rogers seems to think for a moment. Then, “Let me send a quick email.”

-

In one hour and twenty minutes, the soldier and Steve Rogers are seated on the couch, across from a very loud man. The volume doesn’t help its headache, and the man keeps waving his hands around as he speaks, causing the leftover pasta on his fork to precariously hang. It stresses the soldier, and it squeezes its knee three times, three times.

“Clint, please try to be a little quieter. You’re shouting,” Steve Rogers says sternly to the man. The man frowns, and messes with something in his ear. 

Steve Rogers turns to the soldier and with an apologetic look, explains, “This is Clint Barton. He’s going to help you talk to me, if that’s okay with you.”

Clint Barton finally stops fiddling with his ear and holds out a hand. The soldier stares at the hand until he takes it back. He then says as if nothing happened, a little quieter this time, “Yeah, I’m Clint. Your name is Bucky Barnes, right?”

Something in its brain acknowledges and recognizes the name, but its headache only gets worse, so it looks at the ceiling instead.

Clint Barton turns to Steve Rogers. “So Cap, he can’t speak, or…?”

“No, he can speak! It’s just… hard for him. And he doesn’t like to talk to people he doesn’t know.”

“But he, ah, doesn’t know you. I thought, anyway. Amnesia and all that.” Steve Rogers must give him a look, because Clint Barton then claps his hands, and says, “Alright, Bucky! Ready to learn some signs?”

It takes the soldier twenty-six more minutes to learn a few basic gestures to tell Steve Rogers when it’s hungry or thirsty, and more things of that nature. Steve Rogers is now arguing with Clint Barton about whether or not it needs to learn curse words, but it stops listening. Its headache is worse now, but nothing it can’t handle. The room starts to spin a bit, but that’s normal, too. It closes its eyes.

“-ucky? Are you okay?”

It signs: good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter. Sorry it's short!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: vomiting, overuse of commas

It turned into necessity, as it was bound to do, pat onto an arm with every goodbye, squeezed into a hand with every hello, its aloud counterpart bitten back before, before, before.

Steve finds himself thinking of it now, a _one, two, three, one, two, three _-__ a waltz Steve hasn’t had out of his head for years. He can’t decide if he likes the melody or not.

On the bright side, Bucky’s begun to leave his room more and more after that afternoon with Clint, and Steve couldn’t be more pleased. He would tell Bucky how incredibly proud he is but he’s scared Bucky would then go back to hiding in his room - a selfish reason, really - but Steve figures it’s about time he do something selfish for once. Besides, the socialization is good for him. Steve’s not sure how much of that he got during that long year on the run, or during those longer months in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new headquarters. He decides to stop thinking about it, and goes back to his drawing.

He’s drawing Bucky, before the bridge, before the fall, even before the war. He’s just adding the crinkles next to his eyes when he happens to glance up and see the real thing standing a few feet away. He manages to not jump this time, and smiles, setting down his pencil.

“Hi Buck. What do you need?”

Bucky signs that he’s hungry.

“Do you want some Soylent? We can try a different flavor.”

No. It’s bad, he says.

Steve bites his lip and thinks of what other liquid food he has. “Would you like soup? I have some chicken noodle and we can take the chicken and noodle out.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches and he shakes his head several times in a sobering way, then nods once.

“Okay. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

Steve sets aside his notebook, resting it on the couch. Bucky’s eyes follow it, but he doesn’t move from his spot. Steve walks past him into the kitchen and starts looking for the soup. It’s not with the other canned foods, or in the fridge, and Steve is remembering it’s with his other sickness essentials when he looks back into the living room and sees Bucky leaning over the couch to look at Steve’s sketch. He’s reaching his right hand out like he wants to touch it, and shaking like a leaf. Steve frowns, and quietly shuts the pantry.

Bucky must be really upset by the image, because he doesn’t even notice when Steve comes up behind him and sits on the arm of the couch. Steve looks down at the artwork, then up at Bucky, and his heart breaks, because Bucky looks like he wants to cry.

“Do you,” Steve begins, then stops because he doesn’t quite know what to say. Bucky looks over at him, looking devastated, right in the eye.

Is that me?

Steve gives him a watery smile.

“Yeah, Buck,” he breathes. “It’s you.”

Bucky’s face goes through several emotions in tandem, and lands on something blank and a little horrified, and he yanks his gaze away like it’s painful to continue looking at Steve. He snaps to attention, the sudden movement making him sway on his feet a bit. When he nearly falls over, Steve jumps up and steadies him with a hand on his arm, and Bucky bristles. Steve pulls his hand away like he’s been burned. Come on, Rogers!

When Bucky no longer seems like he’s going to pass out, he turns on the spot and strides to his chair, where he sits and waits for instruction. Or punishment. It’s Steve’s turn to feel dizzy.

He goes back to making Bucky’s meal.

-

After Steve lets him know it’s okay to eat, and Bucky finishes the soup, the incident of earlier has faded away, and Bucky is back to relaxing a little bit. Steve grabs Bucky’s empty bowl and talks to him while he washes it.

“I knew you would like that more.” (Yes, Bucky says. It’s good.) “Bruce suggested we move up to yogurt soon. He doesn’t want you getting any more fatigued than you already are. Speaking of, are you tired? Do you want to take a nap? I’m not using the couch anymore; you can sleep there if you want. But do you mind if I stay in the room? There’s better lighting in here and I want to finish my drawing… Bucky?”

Steve pauses his drying and walks back to the table, kneeling in front of the man in question. He looks pale, and distant. Probably remembering the drawing. Come _on_ , Rogers!

Then, Bucky lurches forward, clapping a hand over his mouth, and makes a beeline for the bathroom, nearly pushing Steve onto the ground. Steve can hear the bathroom door burst open, and then moments later, a gagging sound rings out down the hall. Steve reaches the bathroom in record time, and on instinct pulls Bucky’s hair back as he vomits into the toilet. He doesn’t flinch away this time, probably because he’s _vomiting into the toilet_. The soup was too much for him, of course it was. And with the drawing... Steve feels like the scum of the earth.

It’s a long while before Bucky sits back, paler than ever, collapsing against the side of the bathtub. His breath is ragged, and he keeps shaking his head in the way that he does. Steve lets go of his hair, fetching Bucky a towel and some lukewarm water from the sink.

“Small sips,” he says.

Bucky takes the drink with shaky hands. After it nearly slips from his grasp several times, Steve takes it from him and holds it up to his mouth. Bucky takes an obedient gulp, shuddering at the taste. He has a few more sips, then pushes it away. He looks even more exhausted than Steve feels.

Tired, he tells Steve. I’m tired. He signs slowly, like his limbs, artificial and not, weigh a ton.

“T-t-take a n-nap,” he then stammers, words slurring together. It’s still the most he’s said since arriving at Steve’s apartment, and Steve smiles, a little bit sad, a little bit happy.

“Sure, pal.”

-

Sam comes by while Bucky is asleep. He claims it’s to make sure Bucky’s doing okay, but Steve is sure he just wants to see if Steve’s given up yet - not like that would ever happen. End of the line, they always said, and Steve intends to keep that promise.

Sam whistles low when he sees the assassin snoozing on Steve’s couch.

“Damn,” he says. “Never thought I’d see Barnes taking a cat nap.”

Steve shushes him lowly and finishes packing away his art supplies. “Yeah, and it’d be best if he stayed that way. Did I tell you he threw up not too long ago? I thought he was making progress…”

“And he _is_. Even I can see that. I mean, look at him,” Sam makes a vague gesture towards Bucky’s sleeping form. “Do you think he would be sleeping out in the open like this if he wasn’t making progress?”

Steve zips up his art bag and chews on his lip, thoughtful.

“I… Guess not.”

“You’re doing fine, Cap,” Sam assures him, sipping his coffee. “I have to say, though, I did doubt you. Natasha and I both. Let’s just hope he continues to heal.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, watching Bucky’s long, even breaths. “Let’s hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Probably going to upload two chapters today, so keep an eye out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: brief self-injurious behavior

It ended in the cold. So cold. The snow was so cold. 

Fingers too frozen to move, too stiff to bend. Days alone. There was pain at first, pinpricks of pain, and then there was warmth. Overwhelming warmth, burning. And then nothing. Something like relief, until the discovery, and then there was after, after, after.

The soldier wakes with a violent jerk and sits up, looking frantically around the dark room, scrambling for purchase. _Where the hell is he_? Then it remembers. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff, from the white room. It’s after the after, and the soldier lays back down in a cold sweat. It breathes deeply. _One… and two… and three_. It presses the pattern into the couch cushion. _One and two and three_. _One and two and three_. _I and love and you_.

It blinks.

Before it can dissect just _why in the hell he thought that_ \- and okay, that needs to stop, _needs_ to, and it shakes its head until it’s dizzy - there’s movement from the hallway and it sits up again, hand reaching for the knife it knows isn’t there. 

Steve Rogers holds up his hands, lifting one from the doorknob to the bathroom.

It sags, laying back down onto the couch. It drags its flesh hand down its face. What time is it? 0200 hours, its brain supplies. Why is Steve Rogers awake? It tells itself to not care, and drops its hand to its side. Steve Rogers waits for thirty-three seconds, then goes back to entering the bathroom, making slow deliberate movements. 

When the door is quietly pulled shut, the soldier sweeps its legs over the edge of the couch and pulls off the blanket Steve Rogers supplied it. _His ma made it, in the winter of 1935, the year before she died. He and Bucky used to curl up underneath it and whisper to each other late into the night. Silent at night in the way they always were when sleeping in that thin-walled apartment. He was tracing the curve of Steve’s neck down to his shoulder, and running his fingertips down his arms, trailing feather-light paths to his hands_ -

Bucky finds himself standing in a kitchen.

He looks around for a moment and realizes he’s in Steve Roger’s kitchen. When did he…?

He looks back at the couch where he was sleeping. Oh. He must have… okay. Okay. God, his head hurts really bad. He makes his way back to the couch. A toilet flushes from the hallway. Steve Rogers - oh, God, _Steve_ \- steps out of a door, flicking off the light behind him. He glances at Bucky, cautiously, then turns to leave. 

“Stuh!” Bucky calls out, extending a hand, maybe to tell him to stop, maybe to just say his name for the first time in twenty-five thousand, three-hundred eighty-

“Buck?” Steve steps into the living room, looking wary.

Yes, _yes_ , wait- Bucky forces his hand to form a fist in an S, but struggles to tuck his thumb for the next letter and damn it! He tries with his other hand, but it’s no better, and Bucky jostles it angrily. Steve is on the floor in front of him now, eyes rapidly widening. He hovers his hands over Bucky’s knees like he wants to touch, and _why won’t he just touch him_?? For some reason, that’s what pushes Bucky over the edge, and he sobs, a swallowed and strange sound, grabbing onto Steve and pulling him close. 

Steve starts to weep, too, squeezing him tight, mumbling “Bucky, Buck, _sweetheart_ ,” into his hair. He rocks them back and forth, and Bucky cries and cries and cries.

Ten minutes and forty-six seconds pass before the soldier can breathe through its nose again. It pulls back, still gripped by Steve Rogers. It doesn’t mind being touched by him, but it can’t remember why. It sniffs, allowing itself to look at Steve Roger’s eyes. They’re wet with tears. Why was he crying? Why was _it_ crying? 

The more it tries to think, the memory fades, foggy and thick like a dream. It drops its hands from Steve Rogers’ arms and into its lap. It stares at them. In its peripheral, Steve Rogers sits back onto his heels and moves his hands to touch the soldier’s, feather-light. _Feather-light paths down to his hands when he first tried it, three taps on a thin wrist. Steve had_ -

It shakes its head over and over and over, squeezing its eyes shut. Stop, stop, _stop_ , it’s too much, it hurts _too much_.

Steve smiles bittersweetly, and rubs a thumb over Bucky’s palm. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I know. It’s okay.”

-

The soldier doesn’t know when it fell asleep again, but it must have, because when it next opens its eyes, the room is light. It’s on its back, flesh arm hanging down to lightly grasp at Steve Roger’s hand, who is still asleep on the floor. The soldier carefully retracts its hand, trying not to rouse the other. Steve Rogers slowly stirs anyway, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Bucky?” He asks groggily, voice rough. “Y’okay?”

Yes, the soldier signs with the hand Steve Rogers was holding.

Steve lays back down, already closing his eyes again. “Good, good…” he murmurs, sounding a little dazed.

The soldier stares at the ceiling and listens to Steve Rogers quietly snore for two more hours, until he wakes up again, this time sitting up right away and looking around. He spots the soldier, is a little surprised, then smiles sadly. He does that a lot, the soldier has noticed. 

“Hey,” Steve says.

It gives a loose salute. Hello.

Steve Rogers hoists himself up and stretches, cracking his back with a pop and a groan. He shakes out his limbs, then turns to the soldier. 

“I’m gonna… make some breakfast. Do you mind if Clint comes by? I think you need to learn some more signs.”

Clint. Clint Barton, the loud man. The soldier nods its head, grimacing.

Steve Rogers stares for a moment then throws his head back and laughs. “You do mind? Okay, okay… I can just look them up on the internet. Did you know there’s this thing called...” he starts talking about Google and something or other, but the soldier stops listening.

They have some breakfast - Soylent for the soldier, coffee and eggs for Steve Rogers - then migrate to the study so Steve Rogers can use the computer. He pulls up a few videos and, after sending a couple emails to Clint Barton about something called name signs, starts to teach the soldier more words it can say with its hands. 

They spend four hours, eight minutes, and twenty-nine seconds in the study, practicing different gestures and modifying the ones the soldier can’t tell its hands to make, until the soldier gets too tired to continue.

Steve, it tells him. I’m tired. Want to go to sleep.

“Tired? Okay, we can take a break. You can’t go to sleep, though, you just woke up. Want to try some real coffee?”

Yes. Coffee, it signs, rubbing its fist in a circle on top of the other. Please, it adds.

Steve Rogers beams at it, making it feel oddly satisfied. It decides not to worry about it too much.

-

The coffee is disgusting. The soldier drinks it anyway, down to the last drop, wincing the whole time. Steve Rogers watches it during, resting his chin on a palm. 

“Well?”

The soldier nods once. Affirmative. Good, it signs… Bad. Really bad.

Steve Rogers laughs again, a sound the soldier is finding it likes more and more for some reason. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve Rogers admits, picking up their mugs. “I couldn’t add any milk or anything, so I just left it black. You always did make fun of me for likin’ it this way. Ha.”

The soldier works its jaw while Steve Rogers cleans up. Something about what Steve Rogers said is sticking out to it. Something about… 

“Always did,” it says. 

Steve Rogers looks at him. “Yeah,” he responds, a little breathless, setting down his mug.

Something, _something_ in its brain refuses to let go, and it thinks some more, rolling its lip around between its teeth. 

“Did- did- did- did-” It stops, taking a breath. It finishes with its hands; I know you? 

Steve Rogers puts away the mugs, and his face is blocked from view but his voice is watery. 

“Yeah, you did. You do.”

 _Of course I do_. It shakes its head, hard. _I always will_. It shakes its head, harder, until it’s nearly flung off of its chair. _Steve, God, I always will_. It hits its head with a fist. The from-then thoughts don’t go away. It hits its head again, this time into the wall. It hurts, but not enough. It does it again, harder, and the wall makes a weird noise. 

Steve Rogers is shouting something at him, but its ears are ringing too loud to hear whatever it is. It hits its head again, as hard as it can, and the room goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh!!!!! This chapter was an emotional roller coaster to write. We're nearing the end - I think this will probably be five or six chapters with an epilogue, so stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a warning, just letting you know that I am NOT a doctor and anything medical in this chapter is a mix of google and complete guessing... Hope you enjoy.

Steve waits. It seems like he’s always waiting. 

This time he waits in the Avengers Tower, outside the medical bay. He didn’t dare return to S.H.I.E.L.D. with this. They could have taken him back. Another selfish act, but Steve trusts Dr. Banner more than any of them, anyway. 

People keep coming and going from the back, but no sign of Bruce, and Steve is getting more and more anxious by the minute. Then finally, _finally_ , Bruce sticks his head out and beckons him in.

Steve follows, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He feels awful. They go through the door and down a few short hallways, then Bruce raps lightly on the door labeled “Barnes.” 

“Come in,” calls a raspy voice.

Steve’s heart jumps into his throat, and he pushes open the door. Bucky is sitting up in bed, looking frail, but there’s some color in his cheeks, and Steve rushes to his side. Bruce shuts the door behind them, poking around Bucky’s charts.

Steve sits beside the bed and gently grabs Bucky’s human hand. It has an IV stuck into it. Steve feels a thousand times worse.

“Oh, Buck,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

Bruce walks over, flipping through some pages.

“Bucky,” he says. “How would you rate your pain?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, minutely shaking his head, then holds up two metal fingers.

“Good, that’s good…” Bruce scribbles on something, then flips to another page. “He’s already been through a CT scan, and we didn’t find any signs of a concussion, but he seems to have recently suffered some severe brain injuries.”

“Yes,” Steve confirms solemnly. “I don’t think he wants to get into it.”

Bruce nods, like that isn’t the strangest thing he’s heard, and closes Bucky’s file. “What I would do is leave him here for a few days so we can run a few more tests. Then after we’re sure of the extent of the damage and can start a proper treatment plan, you can take him home.”

Steve nods. Home. Home is good. “Sounds good, doc. Thank you, Bruce, really.”

Bruce smiles warmly. 

“Anytime.”

After Bruce leaves, Steve looks back to Bucky. He’s looking around the room curiously, and Steve almost doesn’t want to speak and ruin it, but he does anyway. 

“Buck…?” He asks cautiously. “Is that you?”

Bucky gives a small smile after a few twitchy head shakes, and signs a few yes’s.

Steve almost feels bad for being so relieved, but he feels _so damn relieved_ that he can’t focus on anything else, sagging against the side of the bed. 

“Buck,” he breathes. “I missed you. I missed you so bad. I… Was that you the other night?”

Yes, Steve. _Yes_.

“I knew it… _Jesus_.” Steve feels a little light-headed, and so happy he could cry, but also scared, frantically thinking of what else he wants to say, what else he _needs_ to say. His mind races, and he can feel the time slipping by. God, what if Bucky never has another moment like this? What can he possibly say?

In the end, it’s Bucky who says something, scratchy and thick. 

“St-steve,” he says. 

It’s all Steve needs, turns out, and he brings Bucky’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss against it.

-

The soldier spends approximately twenty-nine more hours in the new white room. Steve Rogers is there the whole time, even pressed against the glass during the multitude of tests Bruce Banner runs on it. It’s pleased that he stays by its side. _Until the end of the line_. 

It’s given up on stopping the from-then thoughts. Steve Rogers seems pleased that it’s stopped shaking its head so much, and that only makes the soldier more determined to quit. The soldier likes Steve Rogers.

And every now and then, the soldier gets taken over by the thoughts, but its finding more and more that it’s okay with that; it makes Steve Rogers happy.

It happens now, hour thirty, and Bucky blinks down at Steve’s sleeping figure. He nudges him awake.

Steve looks confused for a moment, then smiles dopily at him and salutes him in a hello.

Hello, Bucky signs back. “Steve,” he whispers, and it comes out more like “seeve” but Steve gets the meaning anyway, sitting up straighter.

“Hey. _Hey_ ,” he says. “Are you thirsty?”

Yes. Water please.

Steve reaches over to Bucky’s bedside table and helps him take a sip. 

Thanks, Bucky signs, relaxing into the pillows. 

“You’re welcome.” Steve sets down the glass with a quiet _clink_. He bites his lip, which probably means he wants to say something but doesn’t want to waste any Bucky time.

What is it? Bucky nudges him again.

“Do you remember…” Steve bites at his lip some more. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter if you do or not.”

Bucky tilts his head but doesn’t push any further, feeling his eyelids getting heavier by the minute.

Steve lays his head back down onto the bed and takes the soldier’s hand. 

“Go to sleep, Buck.”

The soldier obeys, falling asleep quickly.

-

It’s another forty-two hours before the soldier is allowed to leave, sent off with a few prescriptions and the number of a trusted physical therapist. Steve Rogers listens intently to Bruce Banner’s dietary instructions, taking notes in a tiny notebook that seems even smaller in his big hands.

And then, thirty-seven minutes later, they’re back in Steve Roger’s apartment. _Our apartment_. 

Bucky makes a beeline for the table. Steve chuckles, unpacking the food they bought on the way home. “What would you like? We got all sorts of stuff.”

“J-j-j-jello,” he manages with a grin. Green please, he finishes through a hand.

Steve nods, like Bucky made a good choice, and brings Bucky some jello. He fiddles with a spoon for a bit, then brings that over to him, too. The spoon has a thick pencil grip on it, another suggestion from Bruce. Bucky takes it from him, pleased with how quickly he can grab it.

As Bucky eats his jello, Steve works on his laptop. He’s wearing his glasses and oh, yeah.

Bucky asks, when did you get glasses? 

Steve peers over at him and asks him to repeat it.

Glasses. When?

“A few years ago. Guess I’m getting old.”

Bucky smiles at that, taking another bite. Steve smiles back.

The soldier finishes its jello, setting aside the container.

-

“It’s like he’s… what word did you use? Healing, yeah. He’s healing.”

Sam’s voice sounds pleased in Steve’s ear, “I told you, man! You’re doing fine. And he’s- he’s lucid?”

“Yes, Sam. Like _remembering me_ lucid.” Steve thinks about telling him about the night Bucky hugged him, but decides to keep that moment all to himself. 

“Have you _asked_ him if he remembers you?” Sam has his therapist voice on, tinny through the phone.

Steve leans back in his office chair, biting the inside of his cheek. “Well… no.”

“I would ask him. To me this sounds like you’re projecting onto him what you want him to be. And dude, you gotta stop holding onto the past so much. He’s here now. In the present. You gotta take what you can get.”

Steve thinks on it for a moment.

“...Sorry. Too real? I just got back from the VA.”

“No, no! I needed that. I think.”

Sam must smile, because there’s a pause, then he says, softer, “Go talk to him. See if this is all real.”

“I will. Thank you, Sam.”

They say their goodbyes, then Steve hangs up. He gets up out of his chair, stretches, then goes to find Bucky. The lamp inside his room is on, so Steve knocks, then slowly pushes the door open. Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, turned slightly away from the door. He has that eerily still look to him that usually means he’s checked out and Steve is a little disappointed, then he remembers what Sam said about living in the present and enters the room.

As he walks closer to Bucky’s form, he can see a tiny bit of movement. Bucky is squeezing his knee repetitively. Steve kneels in front of him.

“Hey, Buck. What’re you up to?”

There’s no response, and Bucky doesn’t seem to see him. He must really be gone. Steve tries not to feel disappointed, he really does. Bucky is here, now, why does he care so much about before? Bucky squeezes, _one, two, three_.

Steve blinks.

_One, two, three _, he squeezes. _One, two, three_.__

____

____

Steve sees the tears fall from his own face before he even realizes he’s crying. “Bucky,” he breathes. “Please.” For what he’s asking, he doesn’t know. He just needs it.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“ _Please _,” Steve says again.__

____

____

Bucky shakes his head a few times, a very small movement, then looks up.

“Steve,” he smiles, sighing. He then seems to notice Steve’s tears and his brow creases. He lifts a hand to wipe Steve’s eye and Steve catches it, pressing it against his wet cheek.

"Yeah,” he whispers. “I was just looking for you.”

Bucky smiles again, but it’s strained, face breaking a bit.

“I have to ask,” Steve rushes. “While you’re here. Do you... Do you know me?”

Bucky laughs wetly, once, and nods. “Yeah, p-punk.”

Steve didn’t know how much he missed hearing that until this very moment, and he closes his eyes, not wanting it to ever end. He squeezes at Bucky’s hand, holding tight like he could slip away at any moment. He’s acutely aware of how true that worry is, but can’t find it in himself to care. Living in the present. He opens his eyes, and Bucky is looking right back at him.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Steve says.

-

Bucky is scared, so scared, but with Steve here he feels like it’s going to be okay. They’ve been lying on the bed for forty-six minutes and twenty-two seconds - a long time for a from-then moment to last, the soldier notices - talking about what Bucky does and doesn’t remember through fumbled signs and lots of yes and no questions.

Steve turns his head on the pillow like he just remembered something else he could ask, and says, “Coney Island?” 

Yes, Bucky signs. _Yes_. 

Steve smiles, still a little weepy, and looks back at the ceiling. 

“Even the Cyclone?” 

Yes, Bucky signs again. I remember. 

Twelve seconds pass, then Steve props himself up on an elbow and bites at his lip. 

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?” 

Bucky looks at him, slightly lifting his head. He nods. Affirmative. 

“I don’t really know how to word this,” Steve admits, tracing a finger around on the sheets. “But are you still there even when you… aren’t?” 

Bucky knows exactly what he’s trying to say, somehow, and lays his head back down. Yes, he signs. No, the soldier signs. I don’t know. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says quietly. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“I think it d-does.” 

Steve purses his lips. 

“Yeah,” he admits. “It does. It’s just… do you remember the first day you stayed here? I couldn’t sleep, and ended up staying up all night... “ 

Bucky and the soldier remember. He reaches a hand out, hesitant, then drags his fingertips down Steve’s arm, feather-light, trailing down to his hand. He is scared, so scared, but does it anyway, tapping onto Steve’s wrist. 

_I love you_. 

Steve looks down, lips parted, then leans forward and kisses him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's one more chapter!! Ahh!!!


	6. Epilogue

It began again with magnetism - as it usually did - a force neither of them ever really stopped being affected by. It was like they were born to find each other, destined to intertwine lives and limbs. There was something Bruce had said at some point about atoms reuniting with each other, but Steve can’t find it in himself to care as he lies underneath Bucky now, now, now.

Sam had told him and continues to tell him as he visits every week or so, that he should take every day hour by hour, moment by moment. So Steve closes his eyes and soaks up this one.

Bucky is drifting off on top of him, chest pressed in a steady weight against his stomach, his body settled between his legs, head pillowed on his arms spread across Steve’s chest. Steve is absentmindedly playing with his hair, winding it around his fingers. A record plays in the background, one of Buck’s old favorites. Steve opens his eyes. Yeah, he decides. This one’s good.

Bucky stirs above him and he peers down. Bucky lifts his head and yawns, blinking owlishly at Steve before grinning at him.

Steve’s heart clenches. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he says.

Morning, Bucky half-heartedly signs, yawning again.

“You have a physical therapy appointment soon. Don’t go fallin’ asleep on me. Literally,” he adds with a smile.

Bucky shrugs, smiling back. He plops back down onto Steve’s chest. “D-don’t want to g-g-go.”

“You didn’t go last week, remember? Besides, you only got a month left.”

Bucky groans quietly.

“Still don’t wanna,” he drawls. He twitches his head a couple times.

Steve laughs, soft. “Sorry, buddy. Doctor’s orders. Up you get.”

Bucky groans again, longer, but complies. After he gets his shoes on and pulls his hair back into a ponytail (with some help from Steve), they’re ready to go. 

They pick up Natasha on the way, who always comes with them to these appointments so Steve doesn’t get bored out of his mind. While Bucky works with his trainer Rob, Steve chats with Natasha about Bucky’s growth. She’s impressed with how much he talks nowadays, and tells Steve so.

“I know! He’s… he’s just great,” Steve gushes.

Natasha gives a small smile. “I’m glad,” she says, and Steve can tell she really means it.

Bucky comes over for a break, then, stress ball still gripped in his metal hand. He leans down to give Steve’s cheek a kiss and Steve tries to ignore Natasha looking at them openly. 

“Hey you,” Steve says into his neck. “Making some good progress?”

“Ye- yep!” Bucky beams at him. He kisses his cheek again,  _ one, two, three _ . Steve sighs sappily into his shoulder, then Bucky is off, returning to the task at hand.

Natasha watches him leave.

“Sam was right,” she says after a while. “He’s healing.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, still feeling all warm inside. “He is.”

-

The soldier, Bucky thinks, is gone. Its instincts are there, but the soldier itself doesn’t come out much. Bucky decides he’s more than okay with that. Steve, although he doesn’t say so out loud, is more than okay with it, too. Bucky can tell when he catches him crying over the drawing, or while he cleans out Bucky’s old liquid food from the fridge. He always comes up behind him when that happens, slipping his arms around Steve’s waist and pressing his nose to his back. Steve always laughs, sadly, and turns to embrace him, holding him tight like he could disappear at any second.

Steve holds him like that at night, too. They’ve long since moved into Steve’s room, huddling under the covers and whispering, always whispering.

Bucky does it now, mumbling, “S-Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?” comes the sleepy reply.

He taps into his palm, an _ I  _ and  _ love  _ and  _ you _ .

Steve smiles slowly at him and taps it back.

_ I love you, too _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through this rollercoaster of emotions! I can't thank y'all enough for your comments and kudos. I really hope you enjoyed it! See you next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I was inspired to start writing this by a number of works. I'll link them here. All amazing reads!
> 
> [Ain't No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094785/chapters/11716436) by [spitandvinegar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spitandvinegar/pseuds/spitandvinegar)  
> [Holding Your Words In My Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9325751/chapters/21133067) by [Diamond_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamond_Raven/pseuds/Diamond_Raven)  
> [despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823671/chapters/29276760) by [praximeter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimario/pseuds/praximeter)
> 
> Edit: This work now has a sequel, [My Hands They Shake (My Head It Spins)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714396/chapters/36526722)


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